He always carried his walking-stick whether he rode or walked.
We worked with a will, piling up the peats a little in front that we might with them build up the door of our cave after we were inside. We got quite merry over it.
“We shall be brought before the magistrates for destruction of property,” said my father.
“You’ll have to send Andrew to build up the stack again—that’s all.”
“But I wonder how it is that nobody hears us. How can they have a peat-stack so far from the house?”
“I can’t imagine,” I said; “except it be to prevent them from burning too many peats. It is more like a trick of the poor laird than anybody else.”
Every now and then a few would come down with a rush, and before long we had made a large hole. We left a good thick floor to sit upon.
Creeping in, we commenced building up the entrance. We had not proceeded far, however, before we found that our cave was too small, and that as we should have to remain in it for hours, we must find it very cramped. Therefore, instead of using any more of the peats already pulled out, we finished building up the wall with others fresh drawn from the inside. When at length we had, to the best of our ability, completed our immuring, we sat down to wait for the morning—my father as calm as if he had been seated in his study-chair, and I in a state of condensed delight; for was not this a grand adventure—with my father to share it, and keep it from going too far? He sat with his back leaning against the side of the hole, and I sat between his knees, and leaned against him. His arms were folded round me; and could ever boy be more blessed than I was then? The sense of outside danger; the knowledge that if the wind rose, we might be walled up in snow before the morning; the assurance of present safety and good hope—all made such an impression upon my mind that ever since when any trouble has threatened me, I have invariably turned first in thought to the memory of that harbour of refuge from the storm. There I sat for long hours secure in my father’s arms, and knew that the soundless snow was falling thick around us, and marked occasionally the threatening wail of the wind like the cry of a wild beast scenting us from afar.
“This is grand, father,” I said.
“You would like better to be at home in bed, wouldn’t you?” he asked, trying me.